Chapter 17
Reed
I’d jumped out of planes. I’d hang-glided through canyons and dove off cliffs into pools of water. But none of those things piqued my adrenaline like wrangling a five-year-old into a fucking booster seat.
“Uncle Reed,” Abigail screamed in my ear as I leaned over her to reach for the seat belt for the fucking contraption. Graco might as well have been owned by Alcatraz—couldn’t get in and sure as hell couldn’t get out.
“Uncle Reed, I’m not a baby. Let me out,” she hollered, drawing nervous glances from a couple getting into their car a few spots down in the parking lot.
Putting my most composed face on, I gave them a little wave to let them know this was a routine tantrum that I had completely under control. What a fucking lie. Nothing was under control these days.
This afternoon, for example. Whoever said ice cream cured everything was a con artist. I surprised Abi with a trip to Suzie Scoops after I picked her up from Daisy, our neighbor.
She must have been too busy telling me what kind of cone she wanted to realize she’d sat right down in her seat and let me secure her without a single protest.
Like a chump, I chalked it up as a win, but in reality, it was merely putting off the inevitable.
The only difference now was that this conniption came with sticky hands that were armed with an ice cream cone.
Just when I hoped I had the hang of something in this parenting adventure, I was reminded that I knew nothing, controlled nothing, and could count on nothing.
Once I finally managed to buckle Abi in, I gave her a quick pat on the head, hoping to ease her outburst. She crossed her arms and huffed at me, and I watched in slow motion as her blue-and-pink swirled scoop of Unicorn Dream ice cream fell out of her cone, bounced off her arm, and plopped on the floor of the car.
She looked down at it from her car seat, tears welling up in her eyes, and I could imagine this was the pint-sized version of mental collapse.
I could absolutely see through her teary eyes and felt in my core that this was a breaking point, because an ice cream cone wasn’t all that she’d lost. She was crying for the loss of her mother, her old normal, and, as discovered this morning while getting ready for the first day of school, her favorite pair of socks.
She’d described them for me, and I went on a desperate hunt for a pair of pink socks with rainbows and unicorns. I nearly collapsed with relief when I found them in a hamper of unfolded laundry—one of many scattered around the house.
With a song of celebration and even a bonus silly dance, I brought them to her where she sat pouting on the couch, shoes already on, without socks. She was past the tantrum and tears, but she still greeted me with an eye roll that could out-sass a teenager any day.
She then scoffed at me hardcore. “Uncle Reed, those socks are magenta.” She snatched them out of my hand and held them up as a demonstration in her lesson on sockage.
“And these are horsies, not unicorns.” She lunged them upward, trying to bring them to my eye level, so I squatted down before she asked, “Do you see magical horns here?”
Just when I thought she was going to throw them across the room or shove them in my ears, she handed them to me delicately and stoically stood her sockless self up from the couch, then grabbed her backpack and waited by the door.
As challenging as it was, I’d take the tantruming, crying, exploding-with-anger version of Abigail over that expressionless five-year-old.
Such a great start to the day. It could only get better from there, right?
The resounding answer to that question—a big, fat no—was clear as I scrambled to fix this moment gone awry in the Suzie Scoops parking lot.
“Abi, we can go get some more ice cream,” I soothed.
I would buy her piles and piles of unicorn socks and freezers full of unicorn ice cream if I thought it would fix any of this hurt.
She shook her head with her lower lip sucked between her teeth.
Her eyes were a glistening calm, but the green was dull and dark.
With a nod of resignation, I kissed her head and drove us home.
By the time we arrived, she had sobbed herself to sleep.
Rather than picking her up and carrying her into the house, I sat in the stillness of the car with her quiet breaths coming from the back seat. I couldn’t disturb her, knowing she was finding peace in her slumber.
I rested my forehead against the steering wheel and tried to quiet the constant cyclone of thoughts spinning through my mind. My sister’s face appeared immediately, and my heart jerked, causing me to regret asking for the storm to settle. At least the storm kept the grief at bay.
In a flash, Caroline’s bright green eyes came to mind, the beautiful eyes she blessed her daughter with.
They shone, and a huge smile spread across her face.
It was the moment she outstretched her hands and handed a newborn Abigail to me—the first baby I’d ever held—and I was stricken with devotion.
The memory stirred moisture behind my eyes, and I squeezed them shut, willing the tears to stay back.
“Shit!” Startling awake from a knock on the car window, I found Daisy wincing back at me from the other side. How long had I dozed off?
I slipped through the car door quietly. Last thing I wanted to do was stir Abi awake.
“Sorry, I came by to bring you this”—she held up a dish of some sort—“and when I saw you, I wanted to make sure you were okay in there.”
Her head tilted with a sympathetic smile as she handed me the dish.
Tinfoil covered the top, and it still felt warm.
Her cooking was a favorite for Abi, and even though I always felt like there was a little flirtatiousness cooked into each casserole, lasagna, and meatloaf, I was always so thankful to avoid another DoorDash order.
The familiarity with our local Dashers was becoming embarrassing.
A whine sounded from the back seat, saving me from any further conversation.
I craned my neck toward Abi with an apologetic look.
“She had a rough day, so I was letting her sleep. Apparently, I needed sleep too.” I gave her the best chuckle I could manage, but it came out as a sigh more than anything.
“Do you need help getting her inside?” she whispered, peeking in the car.
Just as I shook my head, Abi let out a whimper. “Mommy?”
Daisy frowned. “I’ll let you go.” Nothing like addressing a child’s grief with a single “dad” to chase off advances from women. Not that I was interested. My thoughts escaped momentarily to Cienna. Today was rough, and none of this was going to get easier.
Fresh air swirled in my lungs as I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the drama surely about to ramp up in my driveway, and cracked open the door to the back seat. Abi squirmed as the light shone on her face. “Hey, Abbers,” I murmured. “You had a little nap. Ready to get out?”
With a little squeak, she stirred more in her seat but was clearly only half awake.
There was still a chance I could avoid her completely waking in this car seat, potentially rehashing the entire catastrophe from earlier.
Setting the casserole on top of the car, I unbuckled her straps, ever so slowly, and watched for signs of distress on her face. So far, so good.
She let out a little moan as I scooped her up into a cradle.
Once outside the car, I braced myself against the metal door, drawing air in and out to find some calm.
Peering down at Abi, I took a moment to study her face.
So serene. No signs of a screwed-up nose, stern brows, or downward lips.
Her face was neutral. Her mouth parted and her breaths slow and comforting against my chest.
Ready to take on the next challenge, I lifted her up to my shoulder, wrapping one arm around her, and used the other to grab the casserole. Then I shoved the door with my hip, hearing it click shut.
We got to the front door, and I wanted to slam my head down.
I didn’t know how people did this, carrying purses and diaper bags too.
I squatted, realizing this was the closest thing to “leg day” that I’d had in months, and set down the casserole.
With a grunt, I stood back up and fished the keys from my pocket.
Finally inside, I laid Abi on the couch, making sure to brace her head on a pillow. I slipped back over to the porch, grabbed the dish from the doormat, and softly closed the door behind me.
After setting the food down, I peeked under the tinfoil. Tater tot casserole. Abigail’s favorite. Relief washed over me, and I took a moment to thank Daisy.
I thought I had a minute to change out of my work clothes, maybe wash my face, until groggy sounds mumbled from the living room, and then a soft “Uncle Reed?” heralded me back to the living room.
“Hey, Abbers, you ready for dinner? Daisy brought us tater tot casserole.” I patted my tummy as if to entice her appetite after the words tater and tot. She gave me a sleepy smile and nodded.
“I’ll bring you a plate.” My fingers fumbled over the buttons of the TV remote as I turned on a show for her to watch. “My Little Pony or Glitterpixies?”
Abi huffed in frustration, her head thrown back. Her lame-ass, clueless Uncle Reed.
Crossing my arms and dipping my chin, I gave her my entire attention. “Well then, what do kindergartners watch? CNN?” I chuckled at my sarcasm. I was actually very funny, but she didn’t seem to agree unless I was making fart sounds or wearing tiaras and makeup.
It happened once.
“Peppa Pig, please.”
I had no fucking idea where to find Peppa Pig, but this little tech-savvy lady could. A delighted squeal rang behind me as I tossed her the remote and headed to the kitchen.